


That Painting’s Not So Blue

by suburbanmotel



Category: Long Exposure (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hugs, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, M/M, Sharing a Bed, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 13:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21392620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanmotel/pseuds/suburbanmotel
Summary: //“Hey Joey?” Mitch is serious now. He cocks his head and cuts his eyes away and blows a long, white breath out the window, lips pursed, face bathed in early morning light, and he blinks a few times, slow, and looks back. He blinks again, looks down at his fingers and then back up with a small smile. He nods like he’s decided something.“What?” Jonas says and holds all his breath.“One day I’m gonna marry you.”//
Relationships: Mitch Mueller/Jonas Wagner
Comments: 28
Kudos: 275





	That Painting’s Not So Blue

**Author's Note:**

> So, due to some totally expected and yet utterly nerve wracking updates at Long Exposure webcomic, I have, as per usual, turned to fanfiction to ease my suffering! Fluff and fluff and more fluffy fluff to soothe my shattered heart and shredded nerves! Go read the most excellent comic and then come drown your sorrows in the fluffy fix-it fluff!
> 
> Also, I found these prompts online somewhere a long time ago and finally found a perfect use for them here.

//

oh god it’s wonderful  
to get out of bed  
and drink too much coffee  
and smoke too many cigarettes  
and love you so much  
~ _Steps, Frank O’Hara_

//

_things you said when you asked me to marry you_

//

And on the coldest day in 10 years, Mitch picks Jonas up after work and they drive to their favourite diner on the outskirts of town and eat burgers and fries and Mitch even has a milkshake and when Jonas asks him why his hands are shaking like that, Mitch just shrugs and says he’s just freezing to death or some shit and Jonas believes him.

And later when Mitch is still inside him, naked and shaking a little, sweat-soaked, face tucked into that space between Jonas’ shoulder bone and neck, that sweet hollow that belongs to Mitch and has belonged solely to him for six years and to no one else, he wraps his long strong arms around Jonas’ soft round middle and holds on so tight it almost hurts. Jonas cradles Mitch between his legs, knees and thighs holding him close, breath against Mitch’s cheek and fingers stroking the back of his sweat damp hair, down the long line of his neck, across his shoulders and back up again.

“Let’s do it,” Mitch says, right against Jonas’ heated skin. Jonas stills.

“Yeah?” he says. Mitch nods.

“We’ve waited long enough. _I’ve_ waited long enough. Fuck. There’s no one else. You’re it.” He slides his lips along Jonas’ skin, feels the pulse there, fluttering madly. “Let’s do it.”

And Jonas nods. Yes. Yes. _Yes_.

//

_things you said when we first met_

//

And before Jonas knows anything about any of it, Mitch is just _there_, all the time, hovering. He’s on the periphery of Jonas’ life but close enough that Jonas catches glimpses of him over and over, just out of the corner of his eye. Mitch Mueller is tall and gangly, a jumble of angles and muscle barely contained in torn denim and flannel and miles of pale skin. He’s angry and brash and fills up any space he happens to occupy. He’s also very loud. Jonas can hear his voice above all the others in the hallways and in the classrooms, can hear his braying laugh lingering in the cafeteria long after it’s stopped and everyone has moved on. He’s loud and he’s tall and he’s always around, at least he’s always where Jonas is.

It’s Wednesday after school and he’s late. He’s late because he was tutoring Samuel and lost track of time and now he’s late and Dean is gonna kill him if he finds out he got home late because he promised he’d help Sue babysit the kids because she’s been battling a head cold for a week and she’s worn out and she can always count on Jonas to be there when he says he’s going to be there.

_Fuck._

He’s shoving books into his backpack and tripping over his own feet and trying to yank his jacket on all at the same time when he becomes aware of someone standing nearby. _Hovering_.

“What?” Jonas says, wary. He’s always wary, he’s always nervous. It’s his nature, but something about this boy standing behind him, tall and long, bone and muscle and _facial hair_ makes Jonas so on edge he’s vibrating. He stands there like an idiot with his jacket half on and a 300-pound chemistry textbook in his hand.

Mitch opens his mouth then shuts it. Then opens it again. Then shuts it.

“Your shoe’s untied,” Mitch says at last glancing down and up, quick, and it seems like a joke, like a prank and for a moment Jonas just stands there, eyes locked on Mitch’s like what the fuck?

But of course because he’s Jonas he looks down. Oh. His shoe _is_ untied. Ok.

“Ok,” Jonas says. He realizes it’s the first thing Mitch Mueller has ever said directly to him. Jonas bites back a laugh. How fucking absurd. “Thanks,” he says because it’s polite. Then he says, “I’m late,” because on some planet that is not Earth he seems to think that Mitch Mueller might actually care about anything to do with him or his unfortunate life.

“I could drive you home,” Mitch says, under his breath, teeth clenched and lips wrapped tight around them.

“What?” Jonas whips his head around. His eyes are round and his mouth is slack and he’s sure he looks really charming, but still. “What?” he says again.

Mitch frowns and swallows and looks away. “Didn’t say nothin’,” he finally mutters, eyes down, backing up.

“Yeah, you did,” Jonas says. Behind them he sees Mitch’s friends, the ones who are always looking at him like his hair is on fire. Cliff and Javier and Scratch, waiting for him, it seems, while he talks to this weird boy with the untied shoelace and sad existence. But, Jonas is _really late_ now so he tucks the book under his arm and starts to walk away, aware of his flapping shoelace, when he hears a metallic bang behind him. He turns to looks as he walks.

Mitch is leaning his head against the locker and banging it there once twice. Again.

“Idiot,” he says quietly, so quietly, followed by, “He’s gonna think you’re a fucking _idiot_,” and Jonas wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t been trying really hard to hear him.

//

_things you said when you were drunk_

//

And there’s a party and normally Jonas wouldn’t go because he doesn’t do parties really. But Sidney is going and Sidney is very persuasive.

“You’ll have fun!”

“No, I probably really won’t.”

But Jonas goes and he makes Lewis come with _him_ because Sidney has a crush on Hope Cruz so he’ll need backup if they take off together at some point. He and Lewis hover by the front door and the staircase, trying to stay out of the way but mainly doing the complete opposite of pretty much everyone. Partiers give them glances both irritated and curious and his feet are stepped on repeatedly and he sips at a red cup of beer and Lewis sips at a red cup of coke and vodka that is mostly coke and they lean back and watch.

There’s a lot of hookups and a lot of loud music and loud voices and smoke and more yelling. There’s a lot of people kissing and the music gets turned up so loud the wall vibrates beneath Jonas’ shoulder blades. He takes a bigger drink of beer and tries not to gag because it’s warm and he hates beer. Time passes between songs that Jonas doesn’t recognize and people he doesn’t know trip up and down the stairs, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, and some of them never come back down at all. Sometimes they’re crying, sometimes yelling. Jonas sighs and finishes his drink and is just about to grab Lewis’ arm and drag him out of there when there’s someone standing right in front of him, way too close.

“It’s Spots,” Mitch says with a look of pure delight on his face, like he never expected to see such a sight in his life. Jonas shifts and takes a sip from his empty cup. “What are ya doing here?”

“Partying,” Jonas says with a grin that feels like a grimace. Lewis, loyal friend, nods along.

Mitch cocks his head and surveys him, head to toe and back up, slowly. Jonas can feel himself blushing everywhere.

“Gimme yer phone,” Mitch says, leaning in and reaching out a hand. He makes impatient finger gestures. He smells like many different kinds of alcohol. His eyes are red.

“My what?” Jonas says like an idiot. He feels and sounds like an idiot a lot around Mitch. The feeling is mutual he thinks, remembering heads and lockers and much muttering. He blushes again.

“Phone, phone,” Mitch says, snapping fingers. When Jonas just stares, Mitch slides a hand around Jonas and finds his phone tucked into his back pocket. He pulls it out slowly, hand brushing along the curve of Jonas’ ass. Jonas closes his eyes and murmurs a prayer. Mitch stares down at the screen for a moment, slightly cross-eyed as he realizes it’s not his phone and he doesn’t know the passcode. “Open it,” he says, shoving it at Jonas. At Jonas, who takes his own phone in his trembling hand and opens it and give it back to this boy who tells him his shoe is untied and bangs his head on metal doors.

Mitch, concentrating hard with his tongue caught between his teeth, fiddles and taps and grins in triumph.

“This is my number,” he says, giving the phone back and stepping away, just a bit.

Jonas stares down at it. “Ok,” he says. Mitch nods in approval and reaches out to tap Jonas on the shoulder with two fingers, lightly.

“Text me,” Mitch says and then stands there, waiting.

“What, like right now?”

“Yeah. Before you forget or like, erase it.” Mitch laughs but he sounds slightly strangled.

Jonas takes a breath and taps out a message. _Hey it’s Jonas_

Mitch’s phone pings and he’s looks so goddamn delighted that Jonas can’t help but smile.

“Ok. Ok. Good. Good.” He looks down and back up. “Now we have each other’s numbers.”

“Yep.”

“Now I can text you too.”

“Yep.”

“Oh god,” Lewis mutters. Jonas elbows him. Lewis yelps.

Mitch ignores him. He taps Jonas’ shoulder again, grins, and walks away.

//

_things you said on the phone at 4 a.m._

//

And then Mitch wakes him up a few nights later with a series of texts that Jonas sleeps through followed by several phone calls that Jonas does not.

“Mitch?” Jonas says, squinting and garbled, phone pushed hard against his ear. The streetlight outside his window makes erratic geometric patterns on his walls and floors because he’s forgotten to close his shade again.

“Joey,” Mitch says, voice low and raspy like it always is except it’s amplified over the phone, right in Jonas’ ear. “Whatcha doin?”

“Well I _was_ sleeping,” Jonas says, rolling on his side and rubbing at his eyes. _His_ voice sounds croaky and phlegmy and not at all sexy, he knows. He clears his throat and tries again. “Why are you calling me?”

“Just wanted to hear your beautiful voice,” Mitch says and Jonas rolls his eyes.

“Funny guy,” he bites back a yawn.

“I really woke you?”

“Uh. Yes?” Jonas rolls again. “I don’t know what _you_ do in the middle of the night, but I’m usually not talking on the phone.”

“Huh,” Mitch says. Jonas waits for an apology but there is none forthcoming. There’s a stretch of silence.

“Well,” Jonas says, “this has been fun and all, but if there’s nothing—”

“I think. I think we should go out,” Mitch says, all in a rush.

“Out?”

“Yeah.’

“Like outside?”

“Like _out_.” Mitch stalls, clears his throat. “On like a date.”

There’s a long pause. Jonas can hear himself breathing. He can hear Mitch breathing.

“_Like_ a date?” is all Jonas can think to say. His tongue feels thick and heavy and kind of furry in his mouth. He can hear Mitch groan in frustration on the other end and can’t help but smile.

“Not _like_ a date. A date. An actual date. You and me. Ugh.”

Another pause.

“Okay.” Jonas says.

“I mean forget it—” Mitch says at the same time.

One more pause.

“Really?” Mitch says and Jonas grins again, smushes his stupid face into his stupid pillow.

“Yes. Really.” Jonas’ voice is muffled and squeaky, but Mitch hears him just fine.

//

_things you said before you kissed me_

//

And when Mitch picks him up in Scratch’s car — Dean is working and he tells Sue he’s tutoring for extra credit and Sidney backs him up — and takes him to see a movie, they sit in the back row with popcorn and drinks that Mitch bought and Mitch props his feet up on the seat in front of him and laughs loudly and lets Jonas eat most of the popcorn and halfway through the movie he slides an arm over Jonas’ shoulders and Jonas lets him.

And when he drives Jonas home, he parks at the curb and cuts the engine and the lights and they sit in silence, looking out at the dark, looming house with just the porchlight on — Dean is working and Sue is asleep or in bed reading or in bed sitting up asleep with a book on her lap and Sidney is probably up waiting to hear all the details — and Jonas clenches his hands in his lap and thinks of something, anything to say.

“Thanks, Mitch. I had fun,” is what he stumbles upon and Mitch’s whole face lights up.

“Yeah? Good. Me too.”

And Jonas leans over to hug him, an awkward, elbows-and-knees car hug, and Mitch startles and leans toward him, too, and they end up bumping noses, which turns into bumping mouths and then from one breath to the next, they’re kissing. Jonas leans even further into it before he can think about it, and Mitch slides one hand along Jonas’ jaw, gentle as anything, and kisses like an expert and Jonas just follows along, learning everything he can, and he must do ok, because Mitch groans, low and quiet, and even bites at Jonas’ lower lip, once, just hard enough to make Jonas jump, his dick half hard as he stumbles out of the car.

And then, it seems, they’re together.

There’s late night phone calls and endless texting, and photos that shouldn’t be shared but are, and frantic groping in the backseat of the car, and hugging so hard it hurts and Jonas wants all of it. Want all and then he wants even more. They fit and they don’t fit, the two of them, and it’s crazy and weird and hot as fuck, and no one _gets it_, not even Sidney, who usually gets everything about Jonas, but he doesn’t even care. They’re good.

They’re so _good_.

And they don’t really fight, the two of them, but they argue because both of them are stubborn and sure they’re always right, but neither of them will let a fight go on too long, and never overnight. It’s by unspoken agreement, Jonas thinks, because they’ve certainly never discussed it. Oh, let’s never go to bed angry. No, they’ve never actually agreed to anything like that but still. They never have. Never do.

But sometimes, sometimes, Mitch makes him so mad he could throw something, hard and heavy. This is one of those times.

“I’m sorry, Joey,” Mitch says and Jonas knows he is, but still. It’s the principle of the thing. He could have gone to _jail_ if he was caught. And the thought of _that_ happening, well.

“Don’t do it again,” Mitch says, crossing his arms and attempting to look stern. The look on Mitch’s face says he’s not succeeding. “Ever.”

“Never,” Mitch says, stepping closer. Jonas sighs.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Mitch says and Jonas just looks at him and then opens his mouth and then nods because he can’t think of a single thing to say to that.

“Ok?” Mitch says again because he seems kind of unsure. He’s asking for permission, Jonas realizes. “Ok?” he says one more time and Jonas smiles.

“Yes,” he says.

And Mitch does.

//

_things you said after you kissed me_

//

And Mitch pulls back after he’s kissed Jonas, like he always does, with an expression on his face of quiet, mystified disbelief like always, like he can’t believe he gets to do this, gets to kiss Jonas, that Jonas lets him. Mitch’s big, long, hands are holding the sides of Jonas’ face, fingers laced into the long hair at the nape of Jonas’ neck, which never fails to make Jonas hard and slightly breathless.

“That was,” Jonas starts and then stops, swallowing hard.

“Yeah,” Mitch tries too, but can’t come up with much more than that. It’s a slightly frantic stumble run up the stairs to Jonas’ bedroom, in Jonas’ empty house, on a stormy autumn afternoon, slate grey skies and thunder and rain slapping at the windows. Jonas pushes Mitch down on his unmade bed and kisses down his neck and chest, pushing down on his already hard dick and not knowing much what else to do beyond kind of grind against it. But he wants to. There’s so much he wants to do and wants to try and the sounds he wants to hear Mitch make. He wants to take him _apart_. He thinks about these things when he’s alone at night, after they’ve finally ended their phone calls and sent their photos and Jonas grabs himself and thinks about Mitch in the dark, on his bed. And now here he is, lying there, splayed out, eyes dark and serious and waiting and wanting.

“What do you want?” Jonas asks, voice clicking in his throat.

“You,” Mitch says, like it’s obvious, like Jonas should just know. Then Mitch smiles, shy, and pulls him up for a kiss, pulls Jonas’ shirt up and over his head, and his own, too, and then it’s pants and underwear, and Jonas is completely naked with another person for the first time since he and Sidney were babies. There’s so much skin and it’s so warm and Jonas can’t keep his hands off, or his mouth. And Mitch is soft and hard and ticklish and makes all the noises Jonas imagined by himself in the dark, and when he takes Mitch in his mouth for the first time, Mitch bucks up like he just can’t help it, patting Jonas’ hair with one hand and twisting the sheets with the other, and he warns Jonas when he gets close and Jonas pulls off and uses his hand and when Mitch comes it’s with a shout he bites back with all his teeth. Jonas did that, he thinks, sweaty and amazed. And Mitch kisses him long and thorough and slides down his trembling body and sucks him down and the world narrows down to that point between them and Jonas has never known anything like before.

“You,” Mitch says, when Jonas has come and lies wasted, flat on his back, staring at nothing. The rain beats at the windows and the wind lashes the trees and Mitch kisses Jonas, soft and sweet, on the inside of his shaking thighs, sticky and hot, climbs up, wraps himself around him, and holds on tight.

_You._

//

_things you said with clenched fists_

//

And Mitch has a possessive streak that Jonas really shouldn’t be too surprised about but it still catches him off guard because Jonas has never felt this way about anyone ever in his life _ever_. But when TJ flirts with Jonas in social studies and then again at lunch, and offers him a ride home after school, and Jonas blushes because _no one_ flirts with him, well aside from Mitch, and he stammers and politely declines and slides into Scratch’s car in the back with Mitch, whose fists are balled on his thighs and he sits slumped, glaring out the window until Jonas pokes his arm.

“What’s up?”

Javier snorts beside him and Cliff rolls his eyes in the front seat and Scratch takes a corner too sharply.

Jonas looks around. “What?”

“Your boyfriend is jealous,” Javier says like it’s obvious with a sharp elbow in Jonas’ side.

“Ow!” He looks at Mitch, who is looking out the window, fists curled so tight his knuckles creak. “Jealous of what?”

“Really, Spots?” Scratch says, revving the engine like she’s mad at the world.

“Is this about TJ?” Jonas says and laughs a little, because it’s stupid. Why on earth would you be jealous?”

“Because you’re you, and I’m me!” Mitch says, too loud in the small car and Jonas just stares at him. He doesn’t understand any of this. He’s with _Mitch_. He loves _Mitch._

Wait a minute.

“What’s the matter with you?” Mitch says, peering at him when Jonas goes still and quiet. “You’ve gone all green.”

Jonas shakes his head. He swallows hard. He puts a hand over one of Mitch’s fists and squeezes.

“You’ve got no reason to be jealous,” he says, quiet and serious. Mitch doesn’t say anything, not for a while, but he slowly uncurls his hand, bit by bit, turns it palm up, lets Jonas thread his fingers with his, lets Jonas lean against him, head on his shoulder. “Ok?” He squeezes Mitch’s fingers again.

Mitch sighs, once, so resigned and so very gone.

“Ok.”

//

_things you said when I was crying_

//

And after a huge fight with Dean, Mitch finds him curled up on his side on his bed, knees pulled up tight against his chest, hands over his face, everything wet with tears and snot, shoulders shaking. It’s dark. It’s late and the room is dark and he knows Mitch has done it again, he’s fucking scaled the side of the house and crawled on his hands and knees, ruining his last decent pair of jeans as he angled himself up to jack the window up, sliding inside as quiet as possible so as not to wake anyone in the house. He knows, he always knows when Jonas is upset. Well, because Jonas hasn’t been answering his texts for the past hour. That may have given him a clue as well.

“Oh Joey,” he hears Mitch say somewhere behind him. The window closes quiet quiet and there’s the sound of his shoes sliding off and then the bed dipping behind him and oh god. He’s there. One long hard arm sliding around his middle, one big, long-fingered hand pressed hard against his chest and pulling him back at the same time as his pointy chin is digging into Jonas’ shoulder, in that spot between his shoulder and neck. “Oh Joey,” he says again, against Jonas’ ear, warm and smelling of beer and weed and maybe a taco. Jonas isn’t sure and he’s going to have to lecture him again about safe driving but right now he doesn’t care because Mitch is there and it’s dark and he’s not alone anymore.

Jonas squirms in Mitch’s tight grasp, turning over with some jabbing of elbows and bumping of knees, turning so they’re facing each other. Jonas wraps an arm around Mitch too and presses his wet snotty face into the front of his shirt, which smells like lemon laundry detergent and outside. He’s not crying anymore, not really and he doesn’t really want to wipe his face on Mitch but it’s hard when they’re pressed together like this. Mitch cups the back of Jonas’ head and lets his fingers slide through Jonas’ hair over and over and over.

“You’re okay,” Mitch says into the top of Jonas’ head. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

And Jonas breathes in and out and in and out and clutches Mitch to him and lets himself believe it for now.

//

_things you said after we fell in love_

//

And sometimes Mitch sleeps over. This is what Jonas calls it in his head because really, Mitch spends a total of maybe four hours between the sheets, slipping in the window after 1 a.m. and slipping out before 5 a.m. when Dean is either leaving or coming in. During those brief, shadow filled hours Jonas kisses and kisses and kisses him, his entire face starting at his hairline and moving over his brow his nose his eyelids, across his cheekbones and then each ear, which makes Mitch twitch and shiver and Jonas laugh, quietly. Then he kisses Mitch’s pointed chin and up and down that long neck and then his mouth, over and over, soft and damp and fuck, Jonas gasps. Mitch is a superb kisser, soft and sure and teeth nipping and tongue sliding, slow and easy until it’s not anymore. Jonas gasps into his open mouth, his hands slipping up under Mitch’s T-shirt, over the bumps of his ribs, circle his nipples hard and tight and then Mitch is the one gasping, head falling back and Jonas just stares at him in the half light, mesmerized.

Staring staring staring and oh.

_Oh._

So this is what it feels like, he thinks one night, one random middle of the night, lips spittle slick and heart pounding in his throat. They’ve done this a number of times now but this time Mitch’s little hitching groans and his dick hard under Jonas’ hand and his long long legs and bony knees digging into Jonas’ sides. Well.

Jonas swallows.

“What is it?” Mitch says, looking down at him. “You ok?”

Jonas nods and presses his trembling lips to Mitch’s stomach, holds himself there, breathing in and out, Mitch’s dick trembling and hard under Jonas’ chest. This time when he takes Mitch in his mouth it’s different. This time when Mitch bites on the palm of his own hand when he comes, hipbones slicing up against Jonas’ cheeks, it’s different. This time when Mitch flips him over and swallows him down and sucks him hard and fast and tenderly, too, it’s different. It’s all different and Jonas doesn’t know when it happened but it’s happened all the same. And when they lie side by side, weak and searching for breath, Jonas slides his sweaty hand into Mitch’s and squeezes as hard as he can and says,

“I just really love you.”

And Mitch rolls over, towards him, and makes sure Jonas is looking right at him when he smiles, the softest Jonas has ever seen him smile.

“Good. Cuz I’ve loved you for like, _ever_.”

//

_things you said when we were 70_

//

And a long long time later, long after Jonas is aware of _everything_, they’re getting ready for dinner at Sidney’s, just down the street, and it’s a lovely spring night, warm and breezy with trees full of green leaves and it’s time to go. They’re going to walk because walking is good for both of them, their doctor told them just the other day. Jonas has high cholesterol and Mitch has high blood pressure and even with their improved diet and newfound dedication to exercise aside from sex, walking can sometimes be a stupid, mundane chore.

“Ready?” Jonas says, keys in one hand and bottle of white wine in the other. Sidney never asks them to bring anything — she and Laura have them over every week without fail — but Jonas refuses to set foot in their apartment empty handed.

“Wait, wait. Your shoe’s untied,” Mitch says. He bends down with some difficulty, bad knee and bad back, arthritis in his left wrist, and carefully, slowly, ties Jonas’ shoelace. He sits back in satisfaction and looks up, smiling that crooked smile that still makes Jonas’ heart flip. “There.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Jonas says, and puts his hand down to help him up. Mitch takes it, holds it tight, presses his lips to the knuckles once, and keeps it there, fingers twined, all the way down the street to Sidney’s.

//

_things you said that i’ll never forget_

//

And before Mitch kicks smoking for good, he kisses Jonas soft and smooth and thorough, sliding from the bed and padding to the window where he perches, long and easy, one leg up on the sill, completely naked and Jonas lies there naked and sprawled and sated, all his round edges and plump stomach and soft chin and watches. He watches because for the first time in a long time Mitch is ok being naked, with being naked with Jonas and not tucking himself away, not hiding his body from him and they look at each other from across the small space and Mitch takes a drag and blows it out the screen. It’s warm outside, one of the first days of spring and they’re boys in love with their whole lives ahead of them and Jonas has never loved anyone this much.

“Hey,” he says, soft, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Mitch looks away and then looks back, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling into the room despite his best efforts to keep it out.

“Yeah?”

Jonas grins, grins, and shakes his head because it’s silly, lying here in his own wet spot thinking about things that are silly and beyond his reach, as delicate and weightless as Mitch’s smoke.

“Hey Joey?” Mitch is serious now. He cocks his head and cuts his eyes away and blows a long, white breath out the window, lips pursed, face bathed in early morning light, and he blinks a few times, slow, and looks back. He blinks again, looks down at his fingers and his dwindling cigarette and then back up with a small smile. He nods like he’s decided something.

“What?” Jonas says and holds all his breath.

“One day I’m gonna marry you.”

//


End file.
